Thursday, December 22, 2016

One Last Kiss

I have a tough time trying to decide what to share, and what not to share with the world about our loss. So many moments are so intimate or so painful, that writing them is hard, let alone sharing them with a very critical world. My family is very supportive with my blog, and allow me to share. They don't censor, they just leave it up to me. I share because I want the world to know about our baby, I want them to know just how loved he is.

He never leaves our minds, and will most definitely always been in our hearts. I want nothing more than to hold that baby. Scoop him up and shower his fat little face with kisses.

I dream about John often. I love it when I get to hold him in my dreams. Usually it is the same dream, where I meet him on the dock somewhere, but he is an adult, or he is a baby playing on the beach. I miss him so much it really does hurt. When you wake up and you remember again, and then you try to recall holding him. Fight to pull up a memory of his sweet smile. Anything other than that terrifying feeling of dangling over the depth of despair, fight to ward off the terrible flashbacks to the last time you saw him.

I dreamt of the day he passed a few nights ago. It was all so vivid, and like I was right back in that little PICU room watching them place that little purple butterfly on the door of the room. That purple butterfly was screaming to the world that this family was losing their youngest member.

John was placed in his Mommy's arms to be taken off of life support. My sister's and I are very close, and we truly share in each other's pain. I can't place the emotion that coursed through me at that moment. Devastation is as close a description as I can give. He was so tiny, yet so much bigger than I remembered in her arms. With every tube or wire they removed, the more I shook, shake thinking about it. You can never brace yourself for the moment when you know they're gone. And you will never get over the things you see, or smell, or hear. It all echos throughout your head.

I watched my sister cradle her baby and sob over his lifeless body. She felt his heart stop. You could feel every soul in the room crash to the floor with grief. We knew immediately when he was gone, because she went with him. I watched my mom and Virginia hold him one last time. The sounds of their crying...that defeated look on their faces...are things that I can't describe. That kind of heartbreak is only recognized and understood by those that know it, and I hope you never do.

I knew I would never have another chance to snuggle with John, and we all decided to hold him one last time. He was so much heavier than I remembered, his chunky little self. He wasn't there, but I will cling to that moment. The feeling of holding him against my heart one more time. Kissing his soft little cheek. I felt him in my arms when I dreamt of him the other night. I woke up and it was like I had just been holding him.

When I woke up my heart hurt, and I almost panicked. The anxiety ate at me for a minute. Moments like those give me a whole new understanding of those that suffer from PTSD. That is exactly how I felt that morning, like I was flashing back to that day. It is traumatizing what our family went through, and it isn't over yet. If it feels this traumatizing to me, I can't imagine how Angela feels.

I wanted so much in that moment to trade places with him. Holding his broken and limp little body, hurt in a manner he never should have been hurt. I know what saying that would entail... trading places... but when it's one of your little people laying there, trust me, you would do the same. Any one of us would have traded places with him. Would have given anything to go back and change the course of events that led to him being there that day. Keep him away from that monster.

We need our baby so much. Our family is so broken without him. We are truly lost in this world right now. And the holiday's only compounded that feeling. It is so confusing, to know we should be celebrating holidays, when we feel like there is no reason to celebrate.

We are all so exhausted. It is a job trying to be happy when the world is falling down around you.

I miss you fat man. I really do.

What I'd do to hold you one more time...

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